


A Matter of Perspective

by likehandlingroses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 03:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16756624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likehandlingroses/pseuds/likehandlingroses
Summary: Each of his nieces and nephews have an entirely different idea of who Uncle Perce is, exactly. Is he Fred's ever loyal godfather, or James' least favorite babysitter? No one can quite seem to decide.However, when cobbled together, the ten perspectives tell a complete story regarding this singular member of the Weasley family.





	1. Chapter 1

**June, 2003**

Victoire didn’t know how it had happened; she never did. Daddy said that sometimes magic had a mind of its own, especially children’s magic, and worrying about it would only make it worse. Besides, no one usually minded if she made the lights flicker or flew her sister’s toys across the lawn. 

But this week was special, and everyone had to take extra care. Mummy, for instance, had to pretend she didn’t think Aunt Audrey’s flowers were absolutely hideous—though Mummy never had been very good at pretending, so Daddy usually pretended for her. Daddy’s job was to make sure no one upset Grandma, because Grandma had the hardest job of all: making sure no one upset Uncle Percy. 

Victoire supposed Grandma needn’t have bothered trying, for nothing she’d done could have prevented Victoire’s flower petals from loudly popping in her basket halfway down the aisle, turning into a pale pink dust that gave off a slightly burnt smell.

Victoire froze, her heart beating so fast she wondered if everyone could hear that as well. She wished with all her might that the popping would stop, and for a moment, it seemed to work. She could almost hear the sigh of relief coming from her family’s side of the church when the popping ceased (Aunt Audrey’s family—all of them Muggles—were still whispering in confusion). 

Then, without warning, the entire basket burst into blue flames. Victoire dropped it—not out of pain, but fright— and raced out the way she’d marched in, her face hot and tears already welling in her eyes. People were screaming and shouting behind her, though she didn’t dare look back to see who or why. 

Mummy caught her before she could find a way to open the heavy door leading outside, and Victoire sunk into her arms, sobbing. 

“Shh...it was nothing, darling. It was a mistake, that’s all…” 

But that wasn’t the point, Victoire wanted to scream. Uncle Percy’s wedding was ruined. You weren’t supposed to do magic in front of Muggles, not even one—not unless you wanted to marry them like Uncle Percy did—and she’d gone and done magic in front of a whole crowd of them. 

Mummy led her outside to let her cool down, and Victoire took in huge, gulping sobs of air that was turning crisp as the sun set. 

“Victoire?” Aunt Audrey called as she hurried out of the church, carrying baby Molly. Victoire thought she looked more beautiful in the purple light of the setting sun than she had in the stuffy church. “Don’t cry...look who I brought to see you.”

Molly cooed and reached out for Victoire, who smiled in spite of herself. At least Molly wouldn’t be mad at her, whatever happened; that was the nicest part of baby cousins. 

“I ruined everything…” Victoire murmured as Aunt Audrey herded her over to one of the stone benches and placed Molly in her arms. 

“No, you didn’t!” she insisted. “They just need to do some memory modification charms, that’s all.” 

Aunt Audrey looked at Mummy. “Percy said this might happen. I can’t say I love the idea, but what else can we do?” 

Victoire let their conversation fade into the background as Molly’s wriggling about drew her attention. She was getting big—almost too big for Victoire to keep a hold of. Victoire thought it was funny—Molly at her own parents’ wedding—but Daddy had told her she shouldn’t say so. 

The church doors swung open again, and this time Uncle Percy rushed out, his cheeks flushed, holding Victoire’s wicker flower basket. No one could have guessed it had been engulfed in flames only twenty minutes prior. 

“It’s all in order!” he shouted. “We’re restarting in five minutes. And Victoire—”

“I didn’t mean to, I promise!” she said, half afraid that he wouldn’t believe her. She liked Uncle Percy very much, but he could get fussy about rules, and she’d just broken one of the biggest ones of all. 

“Of course you didn’t…” he said matter-of-factly. “But just in case…”

He showed her the basket, filled once again with pink petals. 

“I made these ones up for you,” he said, sitting down beside her and deftly changing Molly for the basket in Victoire’s lap. “They can’t do a thing but be petals. Try and pop them, go on.” 

Victoire did as he asked, staring down the contents of the basket and squinting in concentration. But try as she might, the basket and the petals it held remained still as could be, and Victoire looked up at Uncle Percy in triumph. 

“They didn’t pop!”

Uncle Percy was pleased; Victoire could tell. He was only pretending to be serious (grown-ups had to do that sometimes). 

“And you tried as hard as you could?” he asked. He looked like Granddad, when he smiled. 

“Yes!”

“Well, then. I’m certain they’ll hold up through the ceremony,” he said. “What do you think?” 

Victoire nodded, standing up from the bench, her new and improved basket clasped in her hands.

“I’m going to do it right this time,” she proclaimed. 

“I know you will,” he said. “It wouldn’t be half as nice a wedding if you weren’t here to help. Isn’t that right, Molly?”

Molly only blinked, but Victoire didn’t mind. Uncle Percy wanted her there, even after she’d caused so much trouble, and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him down.

 

* * *

 

**October, 2019**

If Uncle Percy had been a bit more willing to play politics, Dominique thought, he’d have been a shoo-in for Minister. He’d said over and over that he didn’t want the job—that no one else wanted him for the job—but privately, Dominique supposed he was protecting himself. Not from criticism: Percy Weasley had been criticized by the press for some twenty odd years, and they hadn’t stopped him from doing a damn thing. 

No, it was something else. Something none of the adults talked about, but something every Weasley cousin from Victoire down knew bits and pieces of: that Unce Percy had gone—not  _ dark _ , exactly, but on the wrong path—for a while. The children knew better than to ask their parents about ugly words written in the snarky parentheticals of a Skeeter article, but it wasn’t a secret that something nasty had transpired.

Some of her cousins were determined to pry out the whole story as though it were the subject of a mystery novel. Perhaps, by now, some of them had succeeded; Dominique wouldn’t know.

For herself, she didn’t care to inquire about times long past. The Uncle Percy she knew was the only one of Dad’s brothers who spoke more than a little bit of French, and it made Mum so happy to not always be the person trying to find the right words. He also knew a spell that would separate out all the disgusting flavors in a Bertie Bott’s bag (though he wouldn’t tell it to Uncle George).

In truth, he knew a little bit of almost everything, and what he didn’t know he hastened to find out. 

But even he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the day’s events. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Percy didn’t often clash, but when they did, everyone took cover—and the media swarmed. 

However, Dominique supposed both parties were planning on keeping today’s argument a complete secret: the fate of their Squib niece was already something of a running story, and both of them knew better than to bring it to the public sphere. 

“There is absolutely precedent for it,” Percy said for the fifteenth time to no one in particular. Oliver nodded vacantly, his most immediate focus on the broom catalog in front of him. Three premiere models and one team poised to win the Cup if he made the right choice. It was all Oliver had talked about for the better part of a week...and yet he didn’t appear to be any closer to making a decision. 

“At least a half dozen cases,” Percy continued. “And that’s just in the past century of Ministry employees--”

“I thought Hermione said she was perfectly happy to have her?” Oliver interrupted, glancing up from his catalog.

“In an office with busy work for thirty years. And why? Because she’s afraid of liabilities if it doesn’t work.” Percy bristled in his seat, his shoulders going rigid in a way only he could manage. 

“She’s had the training,” he continued. “She has the knowledge and the skills. With a few accomodations, she can do the job better than anyone else, and if we can open up our workforces to Squibs—”

”—isn’t there any other word for it?” Dominique said. “Squib is so ugly.” 

She didn’t know why she’d chosen now to complain about something that had irritated her for the better part of a decade; perhaps it was because Uncle Percy took things like that seriously. During those times when other people might just treat her condition as an opportunity for pity or sympathy, Percy had answers, plans, information. Dominique knew that confidence was not wasted in his hands.

Sure enough, he did not look at her as though she had a terminal illness or was the subject of a particularly poignant human interest piece. Instead, his eyes narrowed, and he considered the comment before speaking. 

“The Prophet did a series a few years back on the origins of most of Wizarding Britain’s terminology,” he began, and Dominique settled in for the winding road to Uncle Percy’s point. The kettle was starting in with a low whistle, but Dominique said nothing. She liked seeing how long it took one of her uncles to notice. 

“You know, a good bulk of our terms can only be reliably traced to the Ministry of 1572, and there’s some debate over whether most of them are simply passed down clerical errors. Self-writing quills were in vogue at the time despite being wildly inaccurate, so we really don’t know if—”

“—water’s done,” Oliver muttered, over the now ear splitting wail of the kettle. Even as he stood up, he looked reluctant to leave his catalog. 

“The usual, Oliver,” Percy said over his shoulder. “Well, anyway. You’d be entitled to call yourself whatever you liked regardless.”

Dominique shrugged. “I don’t see why I have to be called anything.”

“We all have to be called something,” Percy said dryly. “Sometimes it’s simply a matter of making sure it’s on your terms.”

“But it’s not like I can change the language people have been using since—”

“—why on earth not?” 

Dominique blinked. “Well...I mean, I suppose I could, but it would be--”

“—difficult,” Percy nodded. “If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be worth doing. I thought you knew that already. That’s why you’ve studied so hard to work for Transportation all these years, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t  _ like _ that it was difficult!” Dominique protested. 

“Oh, yes you did,” Percy said with a grin. “Everyone does, a little bit.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Dominique said as Oliver handed off her and Percy’s cups. 

“You’re seventeen, you don’t know anything at all,” Percy teased before taking a sip of tea and grimacing. 

“I know Oliver’s just mixed in salt into your tea,” Dominique quipped. “Or did you just find that out as well?”

Before Percy could do anything but raise his eyebrows and reach for her cup to pour it out, Oliver spoke, eyes back on his brooms.

“This is disgusting, Percy…”

“Salt,” Percy said from the sink. 

“What?”

“It’s salt. In the tea.”

Oliver frowned. “Is it really?” 

He took another sip even as Percy held out a hand to take his cup. “Oh, fuck, it is. Sorry.”

“Get the new Nimbus,” Percy said. “It’ll buy us another year before you kill us both.”

Dominique let him finish with the cups and the kettle before speaking. She’d wanted to help with Floo networking since she was small. It was something she knew, something she could grasp in a world that remained mostly inaccessible. And for it all to be undone, just like that...

“Do you think Hermione’ll let me?” she asked. “I mean, if I’ve done all this work—”

“—she’ll let you,” Percy said with a wave of his hand. “I know how to get what I want. A very difficult lesson to learn—took the better part of two decades, in fact.  I don’t know if you noticed, but I tend to be a bit of a bull.”

“A bit…” Oliver muttered.

“Well, not everyone takes a liking to horns,” Percy admitted. 

Dominique smiled. If Uncle Perce said he could manage something, it was as good as done. Bull horned or not. 

“I think they’re fantastic.” 

* * *

 

 

**December, 2015**

Louis knew he’d made a mistake the moment he caught Uncle Percy’s eye after opening his gift. A new gobstones set, top of the line, and all Louis could manage was a stiff  ‘thank you,’ which his uncle had noticed right away. 

And once Uncle Percy had noticed something, there wasn’t a force in the world that could stop him from bringing it up. 

“They weren’t what you wanted,” he said, somehow managing to corner Louis in the overfull Burrow. 

“Uncle Perce, it’s not that—”

“—I can get a different set,” Uncle Percy said. “Or something else. Do you not play gobstones anymore? I should have asked...with so many nieces and nephews one does lose track...but I have the gift receipt, so it’s only a matter of taking the trip out to Diagon—”

“Uncle Percy! Will you listen?” Louis said, more loudly than he’d meant. “I still like gobstones, and that set is perfect. Top of the line, everyone knows it—”

“—well, there’s actually some debate—”

“—it’s not about that,” Louis said, not about to let Uncle Percy get going again. You had to take a firm hand with him; that’s what Dad had always said. “You’re the one who taught me how to play, so I trust you to pick the best set.”

He paused, unsure of how to continue. To his surprise, Uncle Percy didn’t say a word to fill the silence, and Louis supposed he’d have to tell him. 

“It’s just...I don’t have anyone to play them with,” he said. “At school, I mean.”

“Oh,” Uncle Percy murmured, a touch of pink flooding his cheeks. 

“Yeah.” Loius stared at the floor. Somehow, saying it out loud had been even worse than he’d imagined. 

“Ravenclaws aren’t always the easiest bunch to befriend, are they?” Uncle Percy said, after a pause, all trace of embarrassment now gone.

“No, they aren’t,” Louis admitted. 

Uncle Percy nodded. 

“If I were you, I’d start off playing myself in the common room,” he said. “Someone will ask what you’re doing, and you tell them you’re experimenting...something about the draft in the room and how it affects your concentration or whatnot...that should get them swarming.”

He grinned, and Louis felt a weight lift off of his chest. Uncle Percy wasn’t prone to underplaying things. If he thought it would be alright...maybe things weren’t so bad after all. 

“You really think it’ll work?” he said. 

“I do,” Uncle Percy replied. “And it is a nice set, you know...once they’ve got a look at it, you’ll have everyone clamoring to get a game in. They aren’t like Gryffindors, either, pretending to be above anything that doesn’t involve blood, sweat, and tears.” 

He chuckled to himself, and Louis allowed his shoulders to relax. 

“Uncle Perce?” he began, already knowing the answer. “You won’t tell my Mum and Dad or anyone, will you? It’s just...I want to figure it out without everyone worrying.”

“I won’t say anything to anyone unless you want me to,” Uncle Percy replied delicately. “Though there’s no harm in asking for help.”

“Yeah. I guess not,” Louis conceded, though he knew he wouldn’t be racing to tell his mother he’d spent the last four months pretending he wasn’t eating alone. 

“Perce?” Uncle George peeked his head into the room. “Pictures in five minutes. Everyone needs their sweaters on and their arses in the living room, and I haven’t mastered the art of barking at everyone, so would you do the honors?”

And just like that, Uncle Percy had the nearest window open and was halfway out of it. 

“Charlie!” he bellowed. “Two minutes, everyone’s in! Boots on the porch!” 

He pulled his head back into the room. “Louis, would you search the rooms upstairs, fetch everyone?”

Louis hesitated. He wasn’t like Uncle Perce; he couldn’t make himself seen in a crowd. Particularly a crowd as loud and boisterous as his family. 

“I’ll go with you,” Uncle Percy said, not missing a beat. “But we’ll have to double our speed. I have a reputation to uphold.” 

“You’d think he’d be a little less quick to brag about it,” George quipped, though he was smiling. “I’ll make sure they’ve all got their clothes on right side-up and inside-in, how’s that?”

“And check for food on faces and teeth,” Percy said, shooing Louis out into the hall in front of him. 

“I’m making Ron do that,” George called out after them. 

Percy shook his head and gave Louis a clap on the shoulder. 

“And so ends a quiet, contemplative moment in the Weasley house...after you…”

Still, it had been something.


	2. Chapter 2

**March, 2010**

“Fred? Can you come here for a minute?” 

Mummy didn’t sound pleased, though Fred couldn’t understand why. Everything was ready for his party—all the balloons were blown up, his cake had turned out just right, and Roxanne had hardly even cried all day. The kitchen looked like it had exploded with streamers, yet Mummy and Daddy looked glum as could be sitting in their midst. 

“Hi, sweetie,” Mummy said, in that baby voice that meant something was wrong. “That was Uncle Bill who just Floo’ed in. He wanted to let us know that something came up with Uncle Percy—a family thing—and, well…”

“Perce might not be able to make it, Freddy,” Daddy interjected.

“But he has to for my birthday! It’s important!” 

“I know it,” Daddy said. “And it’s important to him as well. But there’s just some hard times right now.”

“So a party will make it better,” Fred said. Daddy closed his eyes.

“Didn’t even tell us himself,” he murmured to Mummy, a growl in his voice. “Typical.” 

Mummy placed a hand on his shoulder before crouching down to eye level with Fred.  

“Sometimes, when things are hard, parties and big groups of people make things worse, especially for Uncle Percy,” she said. “He’s sometimes really private and needs some quiet time to himself. Okay?”

“But how am I supposed to ask him about—”

“You might need to find someone else, baby.” 

Fred knew his parents were wrong. Uncle Percy never missed anything—especially anything of Fred’s. It was quite a lot, to be both an uncle and a godfather, but Uncle Percy was a natural. He’d always been there—to help, to listen, to laugh. Aside from his parents and baby sister, Fred loved him best of anyone in the world. 

“He’s going to be here,” Fred insisted. “I’ll bet he is.”

However, as the afternoon wore on, Fred’s resolve began to falter. Everyone else had arrived, and they were getting close to cake and presents. Mummy kept giving him strange, sorry looks, and Fred hoped and wished on everything he could think of that Uncle Percy would turn up and prove her wrong.

But there wasn’t any reason to wait after all the games had been played twice over and the finger foods Grandma had set out thinned to a few stray sandwiches. Fred fought back tears as the rest of his family crowded around a cake that now seemed too big, too bright, for the occasion. 

“It’s Percy!” Granddad called out suddenly, standing up from his seat for a better look at the pebbled path to the house. It took only another a moment for everyone else to stand as well, some of them crowding around towards the door and windows. Fred stood on his seat and lifted himself up on his toes. 

Sure enough, there was Uncle Percy striding up the path, holding Lucy’s hand, Molly taking two brisk steps for each of his to keep up.    


“He’s brought the girls, too!” 

Grandma rushed to the door and threw it open; she looked on the verge of tears as she pulled him into a strangling hug. 

“I’m sorry I’m late!” he said to the room as Grandma turned her attention to Molly and Lucy. “The girls were—well, I had to pick them up.”

His cheeks went pink, and the room grew unnaturally quiet. 

Fred hopped down from his chair and tumbled over to him. 

“You came! I said you would!” he exclaimed. “Daddy said you wouldn’t, but you did!”

“Of course I did,” Uncle Percy replied, his face turning even redder. “Whoever said I wouldn’t?” 

He turned to Molly, who held a carefully wrapped box in her hands, rather than wait for an answer. “Love, I think the presents go over here,” he said, guiding her to the massive stack on the counter. 

“It was Uncle Bill who told Daddy, I think. But I told them you’d be here…” Fred said, following them over and watching as Uncle Percy helped Molly rearrange the table so there was space for the unexpected addition.

“And you were right, weren’t you?” he replied, and now—finally—he crouched down so Fred could hug him. It seemed to Fred that he held him more tightly than usual, and when he pulled away, Uncle Percy’s eyes were shining. 

“Now, how old are you?” he said, his voice strained despite the warmth he was trying to instill it with. “Five? That can’t be right. Wasn’t it just last week you were this high?” 

He held his hand about a foot and a half off of the floor. 

“That was when I was a baby a long time ago, Uncle Perce!” 

“I’m certain it was last time I saw you...you’re absolutely sure you didn’t inhale a bottle of Skelegrow?”

Fred laughed, his hands still on Uncle Percy’s shoulders. He was always making jokes like that—silly ones that were very different from the way Daddy told jokes. But that was alright, Fred thought. Better, even, than having everyone be the same. 

As Uncle Percy stood up, Fred grabbed his hand and led him back to the table. A few people murmured hellos or patted Percy on the shoulder, but it was far from the eager celebration Fred thought the occasion deserved. 

“I made sure they left seats, see?” he told Uncle Percy. “One, two, three, four!” 

Only then did he realize that someone was missing. 

“Is Aunt Audrey in the car?”

Uncle Percy went pale. 

“No,” he said, so sharply he seemed taken aback by his own tone and quickly amended it. “She’s...she’s held up today, unfortunately.” 

Aunt Audrey probably had something to do with the reason Uncle Percy had almost missed his birthday, but now didn’t seem like a good time to ask. Uncle Percy was there, and now Fred could blow out his candles and tear into his presents without any of the emptiness he’d felt only a few minutes before. 

Still, there was one thing he still needed to do, something he’d been looking forward to all week. 

“Daddy, can I ask him now before we start?” he asked. 

Before Daddy could answer, Uncle Percy spoke.

“Ask me what?”

Daddy was getting ready to tell him to wait, which meant Fred would have to get it out fast. 

“We’re going up to Wales to see the creature preserve with Uncle Charlie and I get to pick someone to come because it’s my birthday and I want it to be you,” he blurted out breathlessly.

Uncle Percy blinked. 

“Really?” he stammered. 

“That’s sweet of you, Freddy,” Uncle Bill said, cutting through the silence at the table. Aunt Ginny nodded in agreement. Grandma was either crying again or had never really stopped, Fred couldn’t be sure which. But Uncle Percy was looking at Daddy.

“I know it’s a lot,” Daddy said. “I’ve told him you might not be able...but he’s had his heart set on asking.” 

“Has he?” Uncle Percy said, looking unsure of what to do with his hands. “Well, I...I  _ do  _ have plenty of leave to take. And the girls—”

“—they’ll stay with us!” Grandma said. “We’d be happy to have them, Perce.” 

Uncle Percy nodded. 

“I’d appreciate it,” he murmured. 

“So you can come?” Fred asked. 

“Yes,” Uncle Percy replied, throwing Daddy one more look. “Yes I can.” 

“I told you he’d say yes!” 

 

* * *

 

**April, 2014**

Some days, reaching her father felt like wandering about in a cave, only to find a solitary, forlorn creature lying on the floor of the darkest, deepest cavern. The creature was neither frightening nor cruel...only sad and lost and somehow inaccessible. 

Roxanne wasn’t afraid of the creature, not really. But she was desperately afraid of the cave, of the way the creature didn’t seem to want to leave it, as though it had enchanted him to remain dependent on his own misery...if she lingered too long, would she find herself stuck, too?  

Uncle Percy wasn’t afraid of the cave—or if he was, he didn’t show it. He flit through the house with the same confidence as anywhere else, and it was like having a candle illuminate some of the path. It wasn’t better, exactly, when he was around. But it was clearer and brighter, and that was quite enough of a miracle on its own, especially now that Mum was gone to stay with Gram. 

Everyone took it in turns to help: some days Lee, other days Katie, then Uncle Ron or Uncle Charlie. Sometimes Grandma and Granddad Weasley even came for an afternoon. 

But Roxanne liked Uncle Percy’s days best. Not because he was her favorite: that honor had always gone to Lee. It was just that Uncle Perce had a way of making the house seem like it was moving again. He didn’t pretend everything was fine, but he also didn’t wallow; it was a balance few other people achieved.

“What’s this?” he asked, picking up a bottle of whisky from the countertop he was organizing. Roxanne looked up from her picture. 

“Someone sent it for Dad’s birthday, I think.”

“And someone else has already cracked it open…” Uncle Percy muttered, grimacing. It was an old friend who’d sent the bottle, and probably not a very good one, because Dad didn’t drink. 

But Roxanne supposed Uncle Perce knew that already. 

“Lee had some,” she replied. “He said it was cheap, though.”

“Undoubtedly,” he said, shaking his head and setting the whisky down. He looked over Roxanne’s shoulder at the picture she was painting. “Another garden?”

“This one’s all purples,” she said with a smile. It was one of her favorite palettes so far.

“You’ll have enough for a gallery soon at the rate you’re going.”

“Well, I don’t keep them,” she said, dipping her brush into the deepest purple she’d mixed and shading some of the lower flowers. 

“I know,” Uncle Percy said. “Grandma’s always bragging about the one you gave her...and Granddad’s is up in his office. You’ve seen it?”

“Mmmhmm…” she said. “This one’s for Gram. Purple’s her favorite.” 

“I’m sure she’ll love it.” 

Roxanne nodded in agreement, giving the painting one more glance over. It was nearly finished—just needed some sparkles and a frame once it dried.  

“What’s your favorite color, Uncle Perce?” she asked, realizing at once what her next project should be.

“I don’t know…” he said, considering the question with more severity than it deserved. “Blue, I suppose.”

Roxanne rolled her eyes, smiling.  “There’s about a million blues...what kind?”

Uncle Percy gave an exasperated huff before returning to a mode of serious contemplation. 

“Like the night sky, how’s that?”   


“The sky is black at night!” Roxanne said with a laugh. 

“No, not quite.”

“Might as well be…”

Uncle Percy shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right.” 

And then the oven dinged and the table had to be set and the night sky was forgotten. Roxanne went to bed with nothing but excitement, for tomorrow her painting would be ready. Gram would be so pleased to get it, she’d be sure to feel better...at least a little bit.

She was startled out of sleep by Dad’s bedroom door slamming, his footsteps racing down the hall. And then she heard a terrible sound. Someone crying out in pain, pain like nothing she’d heard before. 

She slipped out of bed and followed where the footsteps had gone, straight to the spare room where Uncle Percy was spending the night. Dad had run in and shut the door behind him, but she could still hear the cries coming from the room. She wanted to run back to her bed, but it wouldn’t matter now. She’d hear that wretched sound either way, and if Dad needed help...she’d be better off staying, just for a moment. Just to make sure everything was alright. 

She stood close to the door, listening for any sign that they needed her.

“Breathe, Perce...” Dad kept saying. “You’re fine, you’re awake, you’re okay…”

“I’m sorry,” Uncle Percy sobbed. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay...here, have some water...you didn’t tell me this still happened.”

“It’s me that’s supposed to be helping you,” Uncle Percy said, his voice ragged. 

“When are you going to realize that’s not how the brother thing works?”

“Never,” Uncle Percy said stubbornly.

“Yeah…” Roxanne could hear the sad smile in her father’s voice. “That’s alright. You’re alright.” 

Roxanne heard Dad coming towards the door, and she raced to her own room before he could catch her. She wouldn’t be in trouble, but she didn’t think either Uncle Percy or Dad would want to know she’d been spying on them. 

However, before she could quite close her door, she heard Dad’s voice. 

“You still awake?” 

“I just heard something…” she murmured.

“Perce had a nightmare is all.” Roxanne knew he wouldn’t tell her any more than that.

“Do you feel better, Dad?” Roxanne asked, despite the fact that he looked as pale and ill as he had all week. 

“Loads,” he said, plastering on a smile. “Don’t you worry about me, bug, right?” 

“Can’t help it,” she said.

“Well then, only on Tuesdays and Fridays, how’s that?” 

“And Wednesday.” She grinned. “You always forget Wednesday.” 

Dad chuckled, a little light coming into his eyes. He drew her into his arms and held her tight, and she stood on her toes so he could kiss the top of her head. 

“Night, bug,” he whispered, giving her one last squeeze before letting go. Roxanne turned back to her room, trying to hide the tears in her eyes. She wanted him to be happy again, really and truly happy, the way everyone had told her he’d been long ago, when her Uncle Fred was alive. And it couldn’t happen, not ever, for Uncle Fred wasn’t coming back.

She caught a glimpse of the stars outside her window and her breath caught in her throat. 

“Uncle Percy was right,” she murmured.

“About what?” Dad asked.

“Nighttime is blue.” 

“...right. Well, that’s what I get for asking, isn’t it?” 

But his bemused expression couldn’t dampen her spirits. 

“I think his picture is going to be the best one yet.”

* * *

 

 

**August, 2021**

“Thank you so much for letting me come over, I just can’t tell Mum, I can’t--”

“What’s happened?” Uncle Percy looked panicked, which was probably to be expected; Rose had written him that it was an emergency, and could she please talk to him straight away? 

“I got an A in Charms!” she exclaimed, clambering out of the fireplace. 

Uncle Percy fell back onto his heels. “Ah.”

“I knew I should have studied harder, and without an E, I can’t take N.E.W.T. level, which means there’s no way—”

“—Rose,” he interrupted. “Talk to Professor Flitwick.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. Didn’t he understand? Professor Flitwick had made it clear what he needed for N.E.W.T. levels, and she hadn’t managed it. To ask him  again would be adding humiliation on top of failure. 

“But he’s already said—”

“—sometimes things change,” Uncle Percy insisted, seeming entirely impervious to Rose’s franticness. “Talk to him.” 

“But if he says no—”

“—then you’re no worse off than you are right now,” Uncle Percy said, motioning with his head as he moved from the sitting room into the kitchen. “And even if he does, I suspect there’s apprenticeship programs that would take you without the N.E.W.T.”

He picked up the kettle and began filling it with water,as though nothing particularly interesting was happening. Rose simply couldn’t believe how calm he was, how unconcerned. This was her entire future, and he was acting as though it didn’t matter that she might have thrown it all away.

“No Charms N.E.W.T. requirement?” she exclaimed. “There couldn’t be, I’ve looked at what they ask for over and over—”

“—it all depends on the head of the program and what else they’re looking for that year. Your Uncle Charlie failed—yes,  _ failed _ —his Charms O.W.L. Skipped a whole section on the written portion because he’d stayed up too late studying.” 

Uncle Percy set the kettle onto the stove with a smile. 

“He was convinced they’d never take him for graduate studies in Romania, but there’s an interview portion and you can explain any less than stellar marks.”

Rose knew he was trying to help, but she’d almost rather have known her hopes to become a curse breaker were over now. To spend two more years thinking it was possible, only to have them reject her then...she couldn’t do it. Uncle Charlie had made a mistake. She just wasn’t good enough. 

“But I didn’t skip anything...I don’t think...oh, what if I did? Would they tell me?”

Uncle Percy shook his head. “You’re misunderstanding. They want good wizards, not good test takers.”

Rose blinked. “But if I was a good wizard, I’d have managed—”

“—you passed the Ordinary Wizarding Level, which is more than satisfactory to trust that you have a basic understanding of the subject,” Uncle Percy said, now moving to cut up some lemon cake. “What was your Transfiguration mark?”

“I got an Outstanding, but—”

He looked up from the wooden cutting board sharply. “Then what are you worried about? If you can pass high in Transfiguration for you N.E.W.T. levels, you can go anywhere you’d like, no questions asked. It’s a highly valuable branch of magic, and most wizards only ever get good at one or two pieces of it. They don’t just hand out Outstandings...”

He shook his head, a smile playing on his face. Rose felt her heart rate slowing down, the panic in her body subsiding. Perhaps they didn’t hand out Os, but Uncle Percy also didn’t hand out compliments. He believed she could do it, and that mattered. 

“Can you tell Mum that?” she said as he handed her a plate with a thick slice of cake on it. 

“Your mother knows it already. If she’s forgotten...you tell her to come talk with me, yes?”

He looked over his glasses at her, looking for all the world like Granddad. Rose nodded, allowing herself to finally breathe.

“Okay.” 

* * *

 

**September, 2017**

Mum gave Hugo one more quick hug before turning on her heel and aparating away. She probably had left sooner than she needed to so he wouldn’t see her cry over Rose leaving. For some reason, she had it in her head that it would frighten him if she was sad or scared sometimes, too. He didn’t quite understand it, but it’s how Mum had always been. 

Dad clapped him on the shoulder. 

“You fancy an ice cream?” he asked, and Hugo nodded, even though a part of him wanted nothing more than to go home. 

“You want to come along?” Dad asked Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny. 

“We’ve got to run,” Aunt Ginny replied. “I promised Lily a trip out to the Harpies’ training session...better to fill the afternoon, you know?” 

“Yeah, course,” Dad said, looking glum. Hugo felt the same way. Normally, he enjoyed outings with just him and Dad, but under the circumstances, it was shaping up to be a sorry affair.

They said their goodbyes, and Dad made a sort of noncommittal move towards the barrier, still looking about, as though something better than a solemn ice cream shop trip might come barreling down the platform.

“There’s Perce,” he said, his face brightening as Uncle Percy came into view, walking briskly next to Penelope Clearwater, his hands in his pockets. “I thought I heard him going on. Reckon he’ll want ice cream?” 

Hugo shrugged, smiling. Uncle Percy was always a laugh—though only sometimes on purpose. “Doesn’t everyone?” 

“Right you are…” Dad held a hand up and waved. “Percy!” 

Uncle Percy grinned when he saw them, gave Penelope a perfunctory hug, and hastened over.

“Ah, Ron, Hugo,” he said, holding out his hand to shake Dad’s. “Everything went fine with Rose, then?” 

“She was bouncing off the walls, she was so excited,” Dad said. “You take the day?” 

“Always do, ever since Molly’s first year,” Uncle Percy explained. “I tried to go back to the office after seeing her off...I’ve never had such a bad day at work, not since I was young. An absolute mess...and I hate taking leave, but there’s times you have to and this is one of them.” 

“Don’t you ever get used to it? Them leaving?” Dad asked, undisguised hope in his voice. 

“I don’t think so,” Uncle Percy said solemnly. 

“Well, something to look forward to…” Dad quipped. “You fancy getting an ice cream? Taking Hugo.” 

Before Uncle Percy could reply, Oliver stormed into view. 

“--did you know Katie’s daughter’s a Slytherin?” he exclaimed, without introduction. “And of course she’s going out for the team...bloody good on a broomstick, too. I should know: I bought her first model myself...that’ll teach me…”

He shook his head, still grumbling something about investments to himself under his breath.

“Ron’s taking Hugo for ice cream and asked us to join,” Uncle Percy said, as though Oliver had only just finished with exchanging ordinary pleasantries. 

Oliver’s eyes widened. “That Muggle shop just down the way?”

“Sure, if you’d like,” Dad said. “I’ve not been here too oft—”

“—it’ll have to be there. It’s a sundae bar, they’ve got every topping you could want,” Oliver said, leading the way through barrier. 

“He knows his ice cream,” Uncle Percy said to Hugo under his breath. “I’m a lucky man…”

Hugo didn’t really remember a time before Oliver had been there. He knew Audrey, of course. She still came to things, though less and less since Uncle Percy had married Oliver. She didn’t like it, Mum said. Not that Percy had married someone else—she’d done the same. It was him marrying a man that upset her.

Hugo didn’t understand it: Uncle Percy and Oliver got on splendidly. They had a rhythm, a friendly, gentle pattern that only they seemed to understand. Hugo supposed that’s what happened when you knew each other since you were eleven.

“It’s my treat—” Uncle Percy insisted, after they’d each built sundaes that would put most people’s to shame. His was the smallest, though that was hardly saying much, as Dad’s was three scoops deep, and Oliver arguably had more sweets in his dish than ice cream. 

“I’m the one who invited you!” Dad argued, reaching for his wallet. But it was no good. Uncle Perce was better with Muggle money, and he’d half finished the exchange before Dad had gotten his bearings.

“It’s your daughter starting school,” Uncle Percy said.

“What’s that got to do with—”

“—I’m older,” Uncle Percy said, taking the receipt and dropping his change in the tip jar. “And that always wins.”

Dad looked aghast for only a moment longer before conceding.

“Thanks, Perce,” he said. Hugo managed a ‘thank you’ as well, though his mouth was full of gummy bears and chocolate ice cream. 

“You’re welcome, of course,” Uncle Percy said. “Shall we sit?”

Dad let him bustle ahead before looking down at Hugo. 

“You’ve got to let them do that, sometimes,” he said quietly. “They aren’t trying to make themselves seem better than you...sometimes feels like that, but older brothers—and sisters, I suppose—they’re just doing what’s natural. And sometimes you have to let them, you know? Makes them happy.”

“Plus you get free ice cream,” Hugo said.

Dad laughed. “You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?” 

“Wish Rose was here.” 

“I remember missing all my brothers when they left,” Dad said, sitting down next to Uncle Percy as Hugo sat beside Oliver. “Maybe not this one as much...” 

“Personally, I found leaving for school much more difficult,” said Uncle Percy, ignoring Dad’s teasing. 

“You cried like mad that whole first night,” Oliver said with a smile. “You were trying to pretend you weren’t, and you’d get so upset when I asked if I could get your brothers.” 

“You never told me that…” Dad said.

“Well, you can’t tell your little brother you’re miserable, can you? I had to be brave and exciting and all that. It’s exhausting.” 

“The day I expect you to be exciting is the day I need to be committed.” Dad ducked down even as Uncle Percy moved to shove him off the bench. 

“Thirty odd years of this,” Uncle Percy said to Hugo. “It’s a wonder I’m still alive.” 

But despite their teasing—or perhaps because of it—Hugo had never doubted that Dad and Uncle Percy loved each other as much as he and Rosie did. Though he did hope that if Rose found herself crying tonight, she would write and tell him. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**September, 2014**  
  


Three days. He’d missed going to Hogwarts by three days. It was horrendously unfair, as he’d already told his mother two dozen times. 

“Lucy and I are two months apart—barely anything! And she gets to go all the way to Hogwarts by herself, but I still need a babysitter?”

Mum hadn’t cared, and there he was...stuck at Uncle Percy’s house, being treated like he was about seven years old. He’d begged her to let them go somewhere else, anywhere else: Uncle Percy had always been the dullest person in the room, and it was even worse now that Molly and Lucy were at school. Oliver had flown off for the first game of the preseason, so it was just Uncle Percy and the family cat, in a house that was always just a little too clean to seem lived in. 

Still, Uncle Percy did have the best game closet—old wooden chess sets and limited edition gobstones. Al was just getting old enough to really be able to play with him. Between the two of them, James had figured the weekend might not be a total waste (Lily would provide plenty distraction for Uncle Percy; he was used to having girls around to fuss over). 

However, as Saturday drew to a close, James’ last shreds of optimism had worn out. Lucy and Molly had taken the best games with them, and Uncle Percy had gone from boring and stuffy to downright insufferable. It used to be that upstairs, in the game room, you could do what you wanted without hindrance. Now, Uncle Percy kept peering in the doorway, asking if they really needed to play so noisily, or could they please make sure to pick up the last game before they started another? 

As though they didn’t know to clean up after themselves...Uncle Percy always acted as if everyone else lived like animals, when it was really just that he had a stick up his bum. 

“I told you ten minutes ago to finish up,” he said sharply, staring down at them from the doorway. “Your mother said in bed by nine.”

James pointed to the clock on the wall.

“It’s not even nine!”

“You’ll need time to get ready,” Uncle Percy said. 

Al, the prat, was already busy laying waste to the gobstones tournament they’d been working on since two in the afternoon. A traitor, James decided. This would be the last time he trusted him...

“Why do I need a bedtime?” he argued. “Lucy doesn’t have one, and she’s the same age I am.”

“You’ll have to ask your mother about it,” Uncle Percy said dispassionately. “It’s none of my business.” 

“You just want us to go to bed early so we’ll be quiet and you can go back to having your house be the most dreary thing this side of the Atlantic.” 

“James, stop it!” Al hissed, but James ignored him, standing up and deliberately knocking a few gobstones so they rolled underneath the wardrobe. Uncle Percy’s face was pale and severe, though he chose to pull out his wand and retrieve the gobstones rather than engage with James. This somehow made James angrier than if he’d scolded him. He really did think of him as a stupid kid...something he could dismiss if he didn’t like what James had to say. 

“This is why you’re always Mum’s last pick for babysitting,” he said, his face turning red even as he said it.

“He is _ not,  _ James!” Al exclaimed, turning to Uncle Percy in horror.

Uncle Percy wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t looking at anything, just the blank, white wall at the end of the room. 

“To bed,” he said. “Now.” 

But now that James had started, he couldn’t stop. He wanted something from Uncle Percy, he didn’t know what: anger, pain...anything that made him feel like what he said mattered. 

“What if I decide to run away instead?” he said, feeling the words tear into the room with a violence he was afraid of even as he continued. “Isn’t that what you did?” 

“ _ James!”  _ Al cried out. 

But it didn’t matter how James glared, how much he willed Uncle Percy to do something—anything. He remained impenetrable, stoic. 

“I’m not going to ask again,” he said, his voice cold and forbidding, so that James was afraid of adding anything more than a muttered “git…” as he slunk out of the room.

Al didn’t say anything until they reached their room, but as soon as the door shut he turned on James. 

“Why’d you have to do that?” 

“I did you a favor,” James said, though his clothing now felt uncomfortably hot and itchy. “We’ll never have to come here again.” 

“I like it here,” Al said, sitting down on the bed nearest the door. “It’s not as fun when Molly and Lucy are gone...but I’ll bet Uncle Percy misses them more than we do. And he always makes the best breakfast, and Artemis is the nicest cat, and you know if you ask he’ll take down the crystal ball in his study and let you use it.”

James ignored him, choosing instead to rifle through his bag for his pajamas. 

“Plus, Mum said to be extra nice,” Al said, not content with James’ silence.

“So?” James scoffed, though he remembered now how serious Mum has looked when she’d told him not to push Uncle Percy. Not this time, she’d said. Not this time. He hadn’t bothered to ask why. 

“So, you were mean!” Al said, and though James didn’t dare turn around, he heard tears in his voice. “And you made it seem like Mum’s mean about him, too.” 

“I did not...”  James murmured. 

“Yes, you did!” Al shouted, and James suddenly felt tears stinging his own eyes. “D’you know what? I heard Mum tell Dad that he cried so much when Lucy went to school. And now he’s probably sad again...and all you had to do was put the game away...”

“Oh, shut it, Al,” James said fiercely, his cheeks hot with shame. Perhaps he wasn’t so grown up after all. Thankfully, Al didn’t say another word, though he kept shooting James angry looks until the lights went out. 

James stared at the ceiling, his stomach knotting tighter and tighter with each breath. He hadn’t meant to be cruel. It wasn’t Uncle Percy’s fault that James had just missed going to Hogwarts. It wasn’t even really Uncle Percy’s fault that he was boring...some people had to be, James supposed, and it wasn’t right to make them feel badly about it. No two ways about it: he’d been in the wrong. 

The moment he heard Al’s breathing turn into the steady, slightly whistling rhythms of sleep, James crept out of bed and tip-toed downstairs, unsure of what to say but knowing he wouldn’t sleep unless he’d said it. 

Uncle Percy’s study light was on, the door ajar. He was sitting hunched over something, his back to James, engrossed. James nearly left without a word; he’d rarely been in the study, and never under such circumstances. It felt too private to be allowed. 

“Uncle Percy?” he managed to squeak out, and Uncle Percy turned around wildly, nearly dropping the bit of parchment he was holding. 

“Oh!” he said, placing a hand on his chest and looking James up and down. “I didn’t see you…”

James swallowed. He had to say it, he just had to said it...quick and done with. 

“Lucy sent a letter,” Uncle Percy said, indicating the parchment in his hand. 

“That’s good.” 

“It is. It’s very good. Nice of her.” 

He looked almost lost as he stared down at the letter, and James knew Al hadn’t been making things up about Uncle Percy missing Lucy and Molly. 

“Did you need something?” Uncle Percy said, in a tone of concern James hardly thought he deserved. 

“I’m sorry for what I said,” he blurted out. “It wasn’t even true, about Mum. Or at least I don’t think it is. We come here just as often as anywhere, so how could it be?” 

Uncle Percy looked even sadder than he had a moment ago. 

“That’s the worst part, isn’t it?” he said in a low voice. “When you know it’s not true but you’ve already said it?” 

“...yes,” James replied, though he wasn’t sure what Uncle Percy meant by asking him such a question. 

Uncle Percy closed his eyes. He looked as if he were deciding something.

“You said something, earlier. About my running away. You heard the story from your parents, or—?”

James’ eyes widened. He’d forgotten all about that bit...he really needed to learn to keep his bloody mouth shut. 

“I don’t really know about it…” he stammered. “It’s just...the papers say you left and came back…and then I asked Dad, and he said it wasn’t his story to tell. Or the  _ Prophet _ ’s.”

Uncle Percy smiled

“He’s a good man, your father.”

“He said that about you, when I asked,” James said, hoping it would help some. “He said if I asked you about it, I should be careful.” 

“Careful?” Uncle Percy sat up straight in his chair, his brow knit.

“Well, don’t really remember how he said it, but it was something like...well, if I asked you about something bad that happened, it might sound like you were in trouble, or people were still angry about it. And no one _ is _ angry, I guess.” 

James looked at the floor. He hadn’t meant for it to become a whole ordeal, just apologize and go. Whatever had happened before, it wasn’t his business. 

“I don’t know…” he finished lamely. “You’d have to ask him.”

“I didn’t run away. Not really,” Uncle Percy said, after a pause. James looked up at him, but now it was his uncle’s turn to examine the hardwood. “When I left, I made sure everyone could see. And I was...I said things that weren’t true, then, as well.” 

James didn’t want to talk about what had happened, not at all. Perhaps Uncle Percy sensed it, for he didn’t continue. Unusual, for him. Most of his stories went on for years and years. But this...it was almost as if he’d said something on accident, not because he wanted anyone to hear, but because the words had to be said. 

“I really am sorry, Uncle Perce,” he said, and to his horror, he felt once again like he might burst into tears in the spot. 

“It’s perfectly alright,” he replied, blinking out of whatever reverie he’d been drawn into. And in a flash, he was no-nonsense Uncle Percy again.

“Will you feel better if I tell your mother, or worse?” he asked, and for the first time, James heard the generosity in such a question. He’d always assumed it was a sort of taunt, meant to make him squirm. Only now did he realize it was an offer of real choice. 

“Worse, I s’pose,” he said, and Uncle Percy smiled. 

“Father?”

At first, James was tempted to give the same answer, but he thought for another minute and realized that—Uncle Percy’s forgiveness or not—the words had been said, and someday they’d be accounted for. 

“...I reckon you’d better tell him before Al does,” he conceded.

“That’s probably best,” Uncle Percy said. “Goodnight, James.”

“Night,” he said as Uncle Percy turned back to the letter. He moved to the door, then stopped.

“Thanks,” he said, turning back around and facing Uncle Percy, who had once again lifted his head from Lucy’s letter. 

“For what?”

James shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess...you didn’t have to be nice to me after what I said, and you were.”

Uncle Percy blinked quickly a few times, then cleared his throat.

“I hope—after what I’ve been forgiven for in my life—I never forget what it means to stand where you are. It’s much, much easier to be here.” 

James gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile, then slipped out the door, not in any hurry to stick around and see if he could make Uncle Percy cry. 

Still, he thought as he scrambled back into bed: the whole thing had gone much better than expected. 

* * *

 

 

**November, 2015**  
  


“Have you ever seen anything in it, Uncle Perce?” Al asked, squinting as he examined the mist swirling inside the crystal ball. 

“Oh, plenty of times.” Uncle Percy glanced down from the top of his bookshelf, which he was dusting with gusto. “But it takes an awful lot of practice. Divination is widely considered the most difficult branch of magic there is.” 

“Really?” Privately, Al wondered if that was because most of it was nonsense, though he kept the comment to himself. The last thing he wanted to do was offend Uncle Percy, who was one of the few people who never grumbled when Al asked just one more question. 

“And it’s not as though you’re developing film,” Uncle Percy continued. “It’s more intuitive. You feel something—or sense it, rather—and the ball reflects whatever that sensation might be. The better you can become at drawing in energy, the stronger the image. So you’re not seeing the future as something literal. It’s a feeling, a sensibility. As I’ve said: quite difficult.” 

Al frowned. “So, if there’s sadness in the room, you see sadness in the ball?” 

“More or less, yes,” Uncle Percy said, stepping down a few feet on the ladder and tackling the middle shelves next. 

Al looked back at the crystal ball, and tried to think of how to say what he wanted, but as a question and not an accusation. 

“But how do you know it’s real, and you’re not just...feeling something and then pretending it’s the same thing inside of there?”

Uncle Percy stopped dusting, but he didn’t seem bothered by the question; he only puzzled for a moment before answering.

“I suppose you don’t, how’s that for an answer?” he said with grin, though Al didn’t know what exactly was meant to be funny. 

“Now, of course, there’s theories left and right about Divination and its limits. That whole shelf there, for example, if you’re interested.” Uncle Percy waved to a shelf in the right hand corner, which contained a set of crimson books with white stones inlaid on the spine. “But I’ve read them all and there’s not  _ really  _ a clear picture of its parameters. Perhaps there never will be.”

“But you  _ do _ think it’s real, don’t you?” Al said, not willing to believe that anyone could spend their time on something otherwise. 

Once again, Uncle Percy took a moment to think before answering. 

“I believe intuition is the most important, powerful tool we have as wizards—as people,” he said. “And it never hurts to practice.” 

Al didn’t understand, but Uncle Percy has climbed down from his step stool and abandoned dusting altogether, which meant he was settling into a much longer lecture. 

“I myself was born with very little natural aptitude for intuition,” Uncle Percy continued. “When I first started divining, I thought it was as simple as asking a question and expecting an answer, without taking a moment to listen or reflect. I didn’t realize that my own eagerness to hear the answer I wanted  was blinding me to any other energy. Divination can be easily allied with all manner of poppycock and pomposity.”

Al now understood even less why Uncle Percy had devoted so much time and galleons to something that was sounding more and more like glamorized lying.

“So why do you still do it?” 

Uncle Percy seemed surprised at the question. 

“Well, it’s no different from any other magic—as good as the witch or wizard using it. And, when used with the proper attention, it can do extraordinary things.” 

Now they were getting somewhere. Al sat up straighter in his chair. 

“Like prophecies?” he asked. “I heard the Ministry has a whole department that just handles prophecies, and no one besides the people who work there can even see them.” 

To his surprised, Uncle Percy shook his head. 

“Prophecies are rare and unpredictable,” he said, sitting down across from Al. “Few wizards are true seers, and even they might have half a dozen real prophetic experiences in their lives.” 

If Al didn’t know any better, he’d think Uncle Perce was teasing him, going back and forth like this. But Uncle Percy didn’t joke very often, and when he did you could always tell. He seemed quite serious as he opened the drawer under the tabletop and pulled out a stack of tarot cards.

“Most wizards need tools...the crystal, the cards...but absolutely anyone in the right frame of mind can pull out a tarot deck or look into the crystal and learn something invaluable about themselves or the people around them.” 

Al considered this for a moment. It still sounded a little bit like pretending, but he was beginning to get a picture of what Uncle Percy meant. It was as though the crystal ball helped you concentrate...like how Al sometimes needed to go somewhere quiet before he could read his book. Or how Dad didn’t like anyone talking to him before he played five-on-five Quidditch at Christmas. Sometimes you needed help being more yourself.

“I think I understand a little better, now,” Al said. “Thanks for explaining.” 

“Of course,” Uncle Percy said, standing up. “Asking questions is the only way we learn. Now, if you’ll help me down in the sitting room, I just need to polish some of those dreadful tchotchkes Oliver’s mother keeps sending over...cats in hats and such...I don’t know  _ who _ she thinks lives here.” 

“It’s probably because you have Artemis.” 

Uncle Percy looked at him over his glasses. 

“Well,  _ you’re  _ welcome to try and put a hat on Artemis. I myself prefer to keep my fingers—and I daresay she’d prefer to keep her pride.” 

Al laughed. 

“I could make some of the cats disappear, if you’d like,” he offered. “James showed me a trick—”

“—tell me any more and I become an accomplice,” Uncle Percy said, making a show of holding up a hand to silence Al. “And I must say, it’s very kind of you to offer to help with the cleaning. She’s sent so many over, I can hardly keep track of them.” 

It was only the spark in his eyes that indicated his meaning. Al grinned. 

“Not a problem.” 

* * *

 

**December, 2015**

  
Lily thought a wedding near Christmas was the prettiest, most wonderful idea in the world. The trees were all white and lovely, and the cold air outside made everything inside seem warm and cozy and friendly. That’s just what you wanted, at a wedding. Good feelings. 

Only now it didn’t seem to matter what the temperature was, inside or out. The  _ Prophet  _ had seen to that. 

Lily didn’t usually pay any attention to the paper, except for the comics, sometimes. But as the smallest one in the family, she’d learned to listen in on conversations whenever she could, and it was all anyone could talk about: someone had published something nasty about Uncle Perce on the day of his wedding. 

No one would tell her what exactly it said, but Lily could guess. Some people didn’t like that Uncle Perce had married a woman first, and now a man. Some people thought he shouldn’t marry Oliver because of Molly and Lucy. Some people just didn’t like the way he did his job and wrote nasty things to the editor about it. Daddy said they were usually just angry because Uncle Perce had asked someone to do work, so Lily didn’t give those ones much thought. 

Then sometimes—every once in a while—the paper would say that Uncle Perce wasn’t really a very good Weasley, that everyone only pretended to like him when they went out. Lily hoped that wasn’t what the paper had decided to run today, because today was all about family, and what if he decided to believe the  _ Prophet  _ instead of them? 

Mummy was furious. She hadn’t stopped pacing around and cursing since they’d arrived at the outskirts of Hogsmeade, all packed into a cottage that wasn’t really meant to squeeze in quite so many people. Daddy could barely slip into the room the girls were getting ready in; it didn’t help that Mummy practically pounced on him, her eyes like fire. She pulled him out into the hallway, throwing a glance back at Molly and Lucy, both of whom had hardly said a word all morning. 

“Well?” Mummy hissed, as Lily slipped out the door behind her. Daddy looked down at Lily, wide eyed, but he seemed to quickly decided it wasn’t worth pointing out her presence to his already seething wife.

“Bill and Charlie are keeping a close eye on who’s coming in and out, so hopefully—”

“—tell them to kill whoever it is for me when they show,” Mummy growled. “You know someone will try and sneak in, those bas—”

“—Ginny—” Daddy said, shooting Lily a panicked look. 

“I mean it!”

Lily had hoped Mummy would settle down now that Daddy was back, but she was still fuming. Daddy took her by the hand.

“This isn’t any different than what they’ve done befo—”

“—of course it is, Harry!” Mummy shouted. “This isn’t something stupid, it’s his wedding and his daughters have to see it and…damn it…those fucks…”

It took Lily a moment to realize that Mummy was crying, she did it so rarely. Only then did she wonder if the wedding was really and truly spoiled.

“I’m fine, I’m fine…” Mummy insisted as Daddy—looking alarmed—rubbed her shoulder. “I’m going to see him, hold on…” 

“I want to come,” Lily called out. Mummy jumped at her voice, hurrying to wipe her eyes. Thankfully, she didn’t seem angry that Lily had overheard her conversation. 

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said, holding out her hand. “We’ll wish Uncle Perce luck, and then finish getting ready.” 

“I’ll bet he’ll like the berries in my hair!” Lily said as they walked down the hall.

“It’s called holly, honey,” Mummy said gently. “And I bet he will.” 

She beckoned Lily through a room at the end of the hall, where Uncle Perce was fussing with his robes, Uncle George and Uncle Ron looking on. He caught sight of them in the mirror and turned on his heel. 

“Ginny! Lily! Don’t you look nice?” 

He was smiling, but there was something odd about it, like he’d just stubbed his toe and was trying not to cry out in pain. Though she’d come into the room determined to cheer him up, Lily could now only just manage to stop her lip from quivering. 

How could they  _ do _ it?

Uncle Perce’s face fell. “Whatever’s the matter?”

“Oh, Lily…” Mummy whispered. “I’m sorry, Perce…”

He muttered something about how she shouldn’t have let the children see, and though Lily could hear Mummy fighting this point, it didn’t matter because Uncle Perce had knelt down just far enough for Lily to take it as an invitation to rush into his arms. 

It wasn’t the happy distraction she’d hoped to bring, but it was something. 

“Now, don’t cry...it’s quite alright, you see...I haven’t even had a minute to read it, so it’s lucky they’ve published it today, isn’t it?”

He pried her off of him and looked at her with eyes that shone even as he smiled. But Lily didn’t think he looked as sad as he had a moment ago. 

“Come to think of it, I haven’t even had my coffee...it’s no wonder I’m getting a headache. I thought it might be these lights...it’s a cave in here,” he said with a laugh that was just a little too loud. Still, it was enough to make Lily crack a smile as well. 

The papers always made Percy Weasley seem dour and dry, an outsider of the family, and nothing could be further from the truth. 

Oh, Uncle Perce had a habit of talking too much about the dullest subjects. He could get snippish if someone tracked mud into the house or played too loudly outside his study.

However, he also kept overnight rucksacks for each of his nieces and nephews, all of them dutifully stocked with all the necessities, and—very often—a novelty trinket or toy he’d happened to pick up in between visits. Lily never felt—as she often did with other family members—that Uncle Percy was secretly laughing at her when she spoke; his humor, when it struck, was as neat and open-handed as everything else about him.

Everyone in the family was fond of him, and she couldn’t understand what sort of person would try so hard to make it seem otherwise.

“Uncle Perce…” she said, arms around his neck. 

“Yes?”

“...everyone loves you,” she said, unsure of how else to tell him that it didn’t matter what some nasty person had written, so long as they were all there. 

“I know it,” he replied. “I’m very lucky, aren’t I? And I love all of you, you know. So much. I couldn’t have today without all of you.” 

Lily threw her arms around him again. 

Today would be perfect. Their family would make sure of that.

  
  
  
  



End file.
